Page 3 of Rogue Elves of Ardani

“Yes, lady.” The boy turned to lead her into the prison’s dark hallway.

Crow’s eyes lingered on the elf stretched out on the table. The air had the chill of early winter, and he wore only rags. The stone beneath him must have been like ice. Had no one thought to protect him from the elements?

“Are you cold?” she asked.

The elf looked up at her with that subtle glare that hid a myriad of violent, desperate, despairing thoughts. His lips parted, but didn’t speak at first, and she wasn’t sure if it was because his throat was weak from disuse, or if there were venomous retorts dancing on the tip of his tongue that he was trying to suppress.

“No,” came his reply. Crow glanced down at his chest, where his skin was covered in goosebumps, and arched an eyebrow at him.

“The Varai do not share your people’s inability to withstand a cool breeze,” he informed her. His voice was like a wagon wheel rolling over gravel, and quiet in a way that was intentional rather than a sign of uncertainty.

“But I’ll wager Varai men do share human men’s reluctance to admit when they’re uncomfortable,” she replied with a thin smirk.

The night elf just stared at her.

“He has more clothes and blankets in his cell,” Callias said. “He’ll survive the night, lady, don’t fret. He’s survived many nights here already.”

Many, many nights, Crow guessed.

She followed Callias from the room, leaving the man on the table to whatever else awaited him that day.

Chapter 2

That afternoon, after Callias had finished showing her around the building and explaining duties that she had no intention of performing, she made her way toward the upper levels, where the prisoners were kept.

The prison was bigger than she’d anticipated. She got turned around twice, but managed to find her way again without asking for directions.

She passed by the guards’ quarters, where a group of men and women in uniforms were sitting at a table, drinking ale and playing cards. Her eyes darted across the room, taking in the swords at the guards’ hips and the knives on their belts, lingering on the armor that looked like it would block a knife anywhere but the leg or the head. They had little exposed skin, but there was enough that she would have something to grab onto if worse came to worst.

She went by silently, and none of them took notice of her.

On the upper floor, she came to a closed door flanked by a pair of guards, a man and a woman. She watched their eyes pass over the expensive tailored tunic and leggings she wore and the Mages’ Conclave emblem on her chest.

“You’re the new mage,” the man said.

“Nothing gets by you,” Crow said with a thin smile. “Would you be so kind as to let me through? Lord Felion’s notes said that the magic aura in this part of the building needs fixing, and that’s not the type of thing you want to leave unaddressed.”

The guard rubbed a hand over his beard. The other one squinted at her.

“Magic aura?” the female guard asked. “I didn’t hear anything about that. Did the warden send you?”

“No, he didn’t.” That would have been the bad sort of lie—the kind that could be proven false just by asking someone. But they couldn’t ask a dead man to confirm or deny her claim, could they? “But according to Felion, there’s an imbalance in the weave past this door, and if I don’t take care of it, we could end up with a magical anomaly growing right here in the hallway. Next thing you know, there are demons pouring out of it, the building’s crumbling, the prisoners are loose…” She waved a hand vaguely to indicate innumerable other frightening outcomes.

Every word of it was nonsense. She didn’t even know if there was such a thing as a “magic aura.” Fortunately, the average Ardanian was as ignorant about magic as she was, and even more superstitious about it.

“I was under the impression that this sort of thing was under my jurisdiction.” She put a bit of an edge into her voice. The guards noticed. Their unease increased. But was anyone ever really at ease around mages? “Isn’t that what I’m here for?”

“Yes, lady, of course,” the female guard eventually said. “I’ll escort you inside.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Crow said as they unlocked the door. “There’s a not-insignificant chance of something going wrong while I’m taking care of it, and I’d hate to have to explain your death or dismemberment to the warden. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

The guards exchanged a look. They didn’t argue. They let her inside and closed the door behind her.

A hallway lit by dim mage lights lay before her. Like every other part of the prison, it smelled vaguely like mildew and dirt, and the air was cold and damp. The corridor was wide and lined with doors made of iron bars. One of the mage lights on the wall happened to run out of magic and flicker out just as she entered.

She repeated Patros’s directions in her head and started down the corridor. The man she was looking for was at the end of the hall. Dark hair, dark eyes, of Uulantaavan ancestry. His name was Toreg.

“Hey, lady,” someone said as she passed one of the cells. She spared him a glance. He almost fit the description, except his hair was the wrong color. She walked on.

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